Page 47 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

Kora shook her head. “No. Please don’t.”

She retreated from Raiden, allowing that cool darkness to surface, her old familiar mask taking control, and painfully glanced away at his shattered hope. Raiden’s face slackened as hers smoothed out, a slice of something vicious scratching down her back, allowing her mind to switch off.

It was better this way—easier. She didn’t have the capacity for complicated relationships, even if he made her toes curl, her heart race, and her skin flame like an erupting volcano. He’d made it clear he desired to fix her. To turn her into who she was before.

But that person was long gone. Replaced by a hunter designed as a weapon to kill those who lived within these walls.

20

Raiden

Asingle-stemmed, white hydrangea graced the silver platter of hearty boar stew and simple water. A fitting meal for any recovering soldier, aside from the delicate flora. Raiden knocked cheerfully before retreating from the tray, racing down the hallway to peer round the corner.

This had to work.

It swung open within moments and Kordelia peered out, her striking eyes casing the hallway like a predator.

It’d been exactly forty-eight hours since she’d kicked him out of her room, once again hiding away as she had done on Bone Rattler. Despite her wishes to be alone, he couldn’t stay away, an invisible tether gravitating him towards her. Exhaustion lined Raiden’s frame from spending both nights tossing and turning—both in the air and on his mattress.

He must’ve done something wrong, something to cause her to renege on her words aboard Leto’s deathly ship. Chef had confirmed she hadn’t eaten, and supposedly Aryn hadn’t even graced her chambers yet. Raiden ignored the relief settling within him at that fact.

“How long are we going to do this for?” Leto signed at Raiden’s side as he kept them invisible from sight. “This is the third time today.”

Raiden held a breath as Kordelia stooped to inspect the ceramic grey bowl. She grimaced, withdrawing into the room hastily. Fuck. The breath he held deflated, as another meal Raiden had prepared failed.

“Until she eats something,” he signed back.

Leto rolled his eyes. Usually by this time, they would both be in the tavern Raiden owned—The Lost Lagoon—with several ales lining their stomachs. His best barman currently manned the tavern, and Skylar had taken over training the latest young recruits for their army.

It was one of the very few things Raiden’s father had allowed him to do. After losing his title as Prince, Raiden had also lost his privileges for caring for the citizens of Galen. Of tending to their needs, answering their prayers, and resolving their disputes. He’d become another body of muscle for Zephyr to weaponize at will. Starting with training the next generation for the day the empire came for them again.

But Raiden couldn’t bring himself to leave the confines of the castle, not with a single wall separating him from Kordelia.

He neglected to admit every meal he’d created had been from a suite of Kordelia’s previous favourites. And every single one the Huntress had rejected, abandoning it in the warm hallway, the food hardening and growing cold.

The water within the glass rattled and rose into the air. It shot through the thin slit of the door before it slammed shut.

Well, at least her power was returning.

Mara ruffled her grey feathers, her beady eyes pinned to the bowl of stew. She soared from Leto’s shoulder, landing beside it to drink the hearty broth. The males followed, Raiden’s shoulders drooping as he approached his latest failure.

“She’ll eat eventually.” Leto inspected the hydrangea with a raised brow. “I don’t think this is edible.”

“I’m just trying to make her feel welcome.” Raiden’s cheeks heated, refraining from revealing hydrangea was Kordelia’s favourite flower.

“What’s going on, Windward?” Aryn rounded the corner, his brown hair flopping and his eyes a normal hazel hue. The tattoo on his cheek crinkled as he smiled. Why was he so gods-damned happy? “I’m sure there’re more entertaining things to do than watch a parrot eat stew,” Aryn mused as he glanced down at Mara.

“Kordelia’s not eating,” Raiden signed, motioning for Aryn to do the same outside of her door. “I keep making her favourites, but she’s refused every single one. She’s getting thinner, and if she doesn’t eat soon, we might have to tube her.”

“Well, that’s your problem right there.” Aryn rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to see her as Kordelia. When I said she’s still in there, I meant there’s parts of her akin to how she was before. Sometimes, I genuinely thought she remembered me. But Kora is her own person now, with her own desires, her own passions and tastes. Try something different next time.”

Raiden exhaled as Aryn strolled past him towards what he assumed was Aerion’s chambers, situated two hallways away. Was that . . . was he wearing Aerion’s shirt? A pang of jealousy consumed Raiden, intoxicating and bitter.

Despite Aryn and Aerion’s arguments, they possessed a shard of happiness, a kernel of the life from before the Mist they could still revel in. Raiden wasn’t ready to welcome the archer back with open arms like the others. Aerion’s heartbreak had been unbearable. His brother’s pain had rippled through them all, and Raiden had been the one to pick up the pieces.

He only hoped this time Aryn was here for good. That he wouldn’t leave Aerion like he had last time . . .

“Don’t hurt Aerion again,” he pushed the thought and Aryn froze at the end of the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder, blinking at Raiden for a moment, historic pain twisting his mouth. Aerion didn’t know—could never know. The night before the Mist, their arguments had become so bad that Raiden discovered Aryn sneaking onboard Leto’s ship as it set to sail for Aldara.